


you can call me queen bee

by doingthemost



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Alexis Rose can get it, Alexis Rose is a Badass, Alexis Rose is a total Girlboss, As you do, F/F, Leather Jackets, Pool & Billiards, Stevie Budd can get it, Stevie Budd is a Troll, Twyla Sands can get it, swindling bros out of their money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-27
Updated: 2021-01-29
Packaged: 2021-03-12 19:41:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,629
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29016033
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doingthemost/pseuds/doingthemost
Summary: It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a girl boss in possession of two hot girlfriends and notable skill at the sport of billiards, must be in want of men to hustle out of their money.Even better if the girl boss' two hot girlfriends are also pool sharks.AKA: Stevie, Alexis, and Twyla make a lot of money running a hustle out of the Wobbly Elm.
Relationships: Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose, Stevie Budd/Alexis Rose/Twyla Sands, Stevie Budd/Twyla Sands
Comments: 38
Kudos: 26





	1. Stevie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [kindofspecificstore](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kindofspecificstore/gifts).



> Title from "Royals" by Lorde. Inspired by [this gifset](https://kindofspecificstore.tumblr.com/post/641429089066090496/alexisrosedaily-alexis-rose-4x08#notes), and this direct call-out:
> 
> #um HI can alexis teach me how to play pool? #pretty please omg can i please have an alexis/stevie/twyla fic where they're all playing together??? #justine where are u i need this #OR even better #an au where they run a pool hustle at the wobbly elm
> 
> I hope you're happy now ❤️

"Eight ball?"

It's a woman's voice, dry and unamused, like she couldn't give two shits if he says yes or no. Zeke's no stranger to the tables and regulars at the Wobbly Elm, but he knows, without turning around, that this isn't Ronnie.

He turns around, beer bottle still upturned in the air as he finishes his drink, and eyes his challenger around the glass. Dark eyes and dark hair, a black shirt and tight jeans. Hot, in an intense kind of way that has his lips curling into a smile as he stands up, pointing at an open table.

"Ten a game?" He's feeling charitable. 

" _Ten_?" She cocks an eyebrow at him as he racks, then breaks. He sinks the two and the six, then circles the table, hunting for his next solid. "Dunno if you know, but I'm the resident expert around here."

"Yeah?" He lines up, but the seven misses the pocket. "Then how come I've never played you?"

"Why're you asking me to tell you what's wrong with you?" She studies the table, then tries for the twelve and whiffs the cue entirely. 

"Expert, huh?" The sharp edge of her glare shuts up his laugh, and he holds his hands up. "We can do twenty if you want." 

She tries her shot again and connects, but doesn't sink anything. "Thirty," she says. Her gaze bores into him as he bends over the table, mapping out his angles. "'Cause you're cocky." 

"I'm winning, aren't I?" He getures to the middle right pocket, and sinks the three. 

"Only 'cause you got a cheap fucking start."

"As fair a start as any." The one's next to go, then the nine, but the seven's elusive. 

"You're good," she allows. 

"Yeah. I know." Zeke swallows another laugh as she chalks up for the tenth time.

She does manage to connect with the cue on her next stroke, but the balls move lazily on the table and nothing sinks in. She's radiating annoyance, gripping her cue tightly and bouncing the end of it off the ground as she stalks around. "Fifty."

"I was good with ten," he says. He's feeling a little bad now, but the offer only serves to irritate her more; she practically bares her teeth when she scowls, and he holds his hands up again. If she wants to lose that much money, who's he to stand in her way? "Fifty's fine." 

The seven's next, and he relishes the sound of a nice clean stroke as the ball coasts along the table and into the furthest diagonal pocket. The four goes in, too, banked off the opposing edge, but the five misses. 

"Sure you don't want to make it a hundred?" he jokes.

"You're really gonna bet _a hundred_?"

"I'm playing against an expert, aren't I?" There's something about her thinly-veiled fury and her misplaced confidence that's so hot; riling her up's almost a better game than the pool. "You in?"

She draws closer, tilting her head up to look him straight in the eyes. He's nearly a foot taller, but he'd let her boss him around if she wanted to. "I'm in," she says, her voice razor-sharp.

He watches as she manages to sink her first ball; the twelve hovers on the edge before falling into the pocket, and she follows it up with the ten. But then she accidentally sinks his five, and she stomps on the ground when he laughs out loud.

"Thanks for the money," he says, setting up for the eight. But there's a cluster of her stripes all along the edge of the table, blocking what would usually be an easy shot, and he can't figure out the angle to bank it back over to his side. 

Maybe – 

He twists, studying it, then decides to try for the right back corner. He's landed a shot like this before, and he's not drunk. It'll probably work. 

But then she leans down as he gestures to call the pocket and starts to set up. She spreads her hands out across the long edge of the table, lowering herself so that she can look right in his eyes as he guides the cue stick back, then forward to strike, and the eight ball hits the corner, but doesn't sink. It rebounds back, floating across the felt... then lands in the opposing pocket.

"What the fuck?" He stares at the table, at his eight ball in the wrong pocket, then back up at her as she holds her hand out. "What the fuck?"

"Pay up, loser."

  


  


Later, once he's drawn enough fucking money out of the ATM and handed it over to her, he's nursing another drink at the bar when he sees another woman walk into the Elm. She's gorgeous in an completely different way, the exact opposite of all the kinds of girls he sees in this area, and her legs seem to go on for-fucking-ever before his eyes even reach the hem of her dress. 

Zeke's almost of a mind to go over there, puff out his chest and ask her out, when she wraps her arms around the woman who'd hustled him out of a hundred dollars earlier. _They must be friends_ , he thinks, watching as they embrace – and then all of a sudden they're kissing, hands all over each other, leather jacket falling to the floor. Someone yells, "Get a room, Stevie," and both of them throw their middle fingers up in the air before they kiss again. 

"What the fuck?" Zeke asks again, this time to no one and to anyone. He lost a hundred dollars _and_ the hottest girl in the bar, to the other hottest girl in the bar?


	2. Alexis

"Aren't you a lil' cutie pie?"

She's playing with the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up one arm of a time. She slides her hands up his forearms; her manicured nails carve a path along his skin and her rings glint under the dim bar lighting.

"I'm gonna call you Scotty," she coos. She twines a hand into his hair, scratching those nails along his scalp, and Scott – Scotty now, apparently – is more than happy to go with it. His arms wind around her waist, underneath the leather jacket she's wearing, and she presses a sticky kiss to his cheek. "Do you know how to play pool, Scotty?"

It takes him a minute to remember how to speak. "Yeah. Why do you ask?"

She presses against him, arching in his arms, and grins. "Can you teach me how to play nine ball?"

"Oh, uh. Sure." Scotty can think of several other things he'd rather do, but he's learned that with women like her, he's gotta take things easy. She's too beautiful for him to scare away, and he really wants to see how else she uses her nails. 

He lets her pull him over to the pool table, and explains how to rack the balls. She leans forward, adjusting the diamond, then looks over her shoulder at him, batting her eyelashes. The silver sequins of her dress are almost enough to dazzle him alone, but then she asks, "Will you show me how to stroke?"

Scotty's face must be doing something he's not aware of. She giggles, placing a hand along his jaw as she kisses his cheek again, and then he's behind her, hands on hers and bending over her, guiding her through the motion. "Just like that," he says confidently, with all the inflection and swagger of the hero in his favourite porno. 

"Mm, I see," she murmurs into his ear, low and breathy. His hands tighten on hers and his exhale skims her cheek, but then she's ducking out from under his arms, mischief written on her face. "Let's play!"

He'd almost forgotten they were going to. Scotty sets up for the break, sinking the seven, but his next shot doesn't go anywhere. He reminds her to go for the one first, and use it to sink any of the other balls, and explains pushing out. 

"I think I prefer pulling out," she says with a wink that involves both eyes. Scotty isn't sure what, precisely, she's referring to, but he's good with just staring at her face, awestruck by it, while he figures out her joke.

She's good company. They circle the table with beers in hand, chatting about how she came to the area – something about running from the maple syrup cartel, he surmises – and he tells her about his last breakup. 

"That's so sad," she says over a pout, her eyes big. "Poor, sad, teensy little Scotty." 

Truthfully, it wasn't that big a deal, but Scotty's now convinced that it's the worst thing to ever have happened to him. "Yeah," he says, reaching out for her again, but she evades his hold with a grin. "It was sad." 

Eventually, their game comes to an end. She hadn't sunk a single ball, but she pulls him into a tight hug and whispers into his ear about all the fun she had. "We'll have to do it again," she promises, drawing back. "I actually have to go, but it was _super_ duper fun playing pool with you!"

"Already?" It's not late, and now Scotty's the one pouting. "You sure?"

"My girlfriend, like, _just_ got here." She gestures to a woman at the door of the bar, all auburn hair and big ass eyes. "Sorry!"

"Girlfriend?" Scotty's mouth has dropped open, but he doesn't remember how to shut it. "But you were – we were –"

"You were teaching me how to play pool," she says, and now there's a steely undertone to the sweetness in her voice. Her eyelashes flutter again. "Or are you one of those guys who just assumes that as soon as woman's nice to you, she wants to fuck?"

"No," he says quickly. "No, definitely not." 

"Good." Her eyes scan his face, waiting, but he stays silent and her expression relaxes into a big, blinding smile. "Have a good night, Scotty."

"Yeah." She's already gone, though, making a beeline for her supposed girlfriend. Sure enough, she greets the other woman with a kiss deep enough for him to see it from across the way. She's almost a head taller than her girlfriend, and her hands trail up and down her girlfriend's waist before one settles briefly on her ass. He abruptly turns away when she looks up from the kiss to find him staring. 

"Win some, lose some," Scotty mutters to himself, scrubbing a hand over his face. He isn't in the mood to still be at the Elm, though, so he sees himself out after a couple more minutes, waving goodbye to his friends.

Later that night, he finally realizes that his wallet's missing when he's emptying his pockets and getting ready for bed.


	3. Twyla

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've included some links to the trick shots that Twyla executes. I highly recommend watching the videos; words can't quite do them justice!

When Tim walks into the Wobbly Elm, there's a sign on the pool table that reads: _I'm the best trick shot in the area :)_ in big, flowery cursive. 

"The hell?" He's never seen this before. 

A dark haired woman at a nearby table turns, looking over at him with a scowl. "What?" 

He points to the table and its sign. "What's that?"

"It's what it says." The woman shrugs a shoulder. "She's the best trick shot in the area. She's here all the time." 

" _Who_ is?" It's not like he doesn't think women can't do shit – he's not a caveman, he's pretty sure – but he goes to this bar all the time. He's pretty sure he'd have noticed this before.

She points to the bar with her beer, but there's only two people there: a redhead and a blonde, clinking glasses with paper umbrellas together before they drink. 

"For real?" He looks back at the woman next to him, eyebrows raised. "One of them?"

"Yeah." She pushes him towards the bar, then yells, "Twyla, you got a challenger!"

The redhead turns, looking him up and down, and a smile blossoms on her face. "Hi!" She holds a hand out to him. "I'm Twyla. It's so nice to meet you."

"Tim," he says, a bit dumbfounded, as he shakes her hand. She's so pretty up close, and her green eyes seem to look into the depths of his soul. He hopes his hand isn't sweaty. "I, uh. I heard you're a trick shot."

Her smile widens. "Yeah. That's me! You pay me $10 for every shot I make, and I pay you $25 for every one I miss."

"$25?" She's so tiny and cute; Tim can imagine putting her on the pool table, but he can't imagine her hustling. "You're that good, huh?"

"The best," the blonde cuts in. She offers Tim her hand, palm down, and he stares at it, unsure what to do, before he grips her fingers and wiggles them from left to right. "Are you in, Timmy?"

"Yeah, what the hell." If it means more time with these women, especially Twyla, he's in. 

She leads him over to the pool table, shrugging off her leather jacket, and the other women follow in their wake. "What're your names?" he asks, and they introduce themselves as Alexis and Stevie. 

Twyla pulls a laminated menu out from underneath the pool table, then hands it to him. "Take your pick!"

He turns it over in his hands; there's at least twenty tricks listed out, each with a brief description and an illustration of the trick at hand. "God damn," he mutters. The entire setup is very professional, and he can't help but be impressed. Even if it's a hustle, it's a damned good one. 

"[Blooming flower](https://www.trickshottim.com/shot_tutorials/blooming_flower)," he says after a moment, setting a $10 on the table, and is rewarded with another big smile. The name reminds him of her, and he watches, fascinated beyond comprehension, as she starts to set up. 

She chalks her cue, then leans over the table to study her shot. His eyes drop down to her cleavage, but when she breaks, his gaze lifts just in time to watch every single ball go in.

"Shit," he says, studying the menu again. Now he's just impressed – and more than a little turned on. He reaches for his wallet. "[Twister extreme](https://www.trickshottim.com/shot_tutorials/tim_s_twister_extreme)?"

Twyla folds both of the bills, then slips them into her bra with another big, beatific smile. "Coming right up!" she says, like she's a waitress or something, and then she sets up for the break. The balls skim the felt like a hot knife through butter, or something – Tim can't even remember how to think anymore. 

He takes out bill after bill, mesmerized. Twyla goes through a [rail juggle](https://www.trickshottim.com/shot_tutorials/5x_3_rail_juggle), a [double jump](https://www.trickshottim.com/shot_tutorials/double_jump), and perches delicately on the edge of the table, legs crossed and her dress riding up to reveal a brief expanse of thigh, to execute a [resistance rainbow](https://www.trickshottim.com/shot_tutorials/resistance_rainbow). He keeps paying, and she keeps nailing shot after shot, and then suddenly his wallet's empty and his money's lining her cleavage. 

"It was really nice to meet you," Twyla says with one last smile. Stevie slides over to her left, Alexis settles on her right, and Tim blinks at all three of them, overwhelmed, as Twyla wraps her arms around the other women. "We'll see you next time." 

He can tell when he's being dismissed, even if he wants to stay put and watch as Stevie runs her tongue along Twyla's ear. Alexis reaches across Twyla's torso to grip her hip in a tight, possessive half-embrace, and Stevie's hand settles on Alexis' forearm. He raises his eyebrows at the bartender, then backs away, chagrined, as the bartender makes a shooing gesture with his hand.

Tim sees himself out, bewildered by what he's just managed to witness. Frankly, he doesn't know what impresses him more: Twyla's pool game, or her game with women.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! please feel free to find me on Tumblr at alamborghini!


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